


Horse Racing

by celluloidbroomcloset



Category: The Avengers (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mild Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 09:25:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3931621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celluloidbroomcloset/pseuds/celluloidbroomcloset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a party, Steed and Mrs. Peel get into a discussion about horse-racing, with unsurprising results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Horse Racing

Steed couldn’t help watching her from across the room. He always tried to give her space – this was her world, not his, and he could no more maintain one of those complicated scientific or metaphysical conversations than she could discuss horse racing. But even at a distance he was somewhat in awe of Emma Peel. He’d spent a good twenty minutes listening to her elucidate some problems concerning a thesis on thermodynamics with Professor Eagleton, the man who wrote it and whose lecture they’d just attended. Steed took some vicarious pride when she answered every objection with an explanation of her own views. But he could not understand most of what she said, and had finally given up trying, excusing himself to get a drink at the bar.

It wasn’t a dull party, per se. The townhouse was opulent, the buffet excellent, the wine and spirits perfection. There were also plenty of attractive women milling about, mostly wives or girlfriends of the scientific set. Steed had struck up a conversation for a few minutes with a pretty and buxom redhead who turned out to be a research assistant at one of the local laboratories. But as lovely and charming as she was, Steed only had eyes for one redhead.

So he stood near the drinks table and watched her. Steed admired the poised way she held her champagne flute, the smooth relaxation of her bare arm, the tilt of her head revealing a long and shapely neck. A slender woman, her plain black dress hung well on her, the skirt falling just above the knee and giving a full view of her long, powerful legs wrapped in shimmery stockings. Hard to believe, in some ways, that the elegant young woman speaking with such authority to Professor Eagleton was the same judo expert capable of knocking a man out cold in one blow. Steed had to smile at that, possessing knowledge that no other man would have suspected.

But in observing her from afar, other thoughts of a more personal nature rose in Steed’s mind. When her deep, lilting voice carried over to his ears, he recalled how breathless she’d been that morning, barely able to speak above a whisper, and then only to gasp out his name, his proper name, as she trembled and thrashed beneath him. Something else no one here would suspect – at least, he hoped not – was that as cool and intellectual as Emma Peel was in public, in bed she was as wild as an unbroken mare.

Steed shifted. Such thoughts were inappropriate for the time and place. He checked his watch. It was barely nine o’clock. Another few hours before they would even think about departing, and then Emma would probably be so excited from her discussions that she would be uninterested in the baser things of life. As he saw her toss her hair and laugh, a devilish thought occurred to him. Steed lifted another glass of champagne from the buffet table and walked over to join her once more.

** 

Emma Peel saw Steed crossing the room towards her, two glasses of champagne in his hand. Their eyes met and Emma smiled, for a moment flooded with warmth at her friend, and partner. Lover. They were lovers, and she’d grown used to thinking of him like that. Their public relationship remained ambiguous, as much for the sake of safety as for the sake of propriety. But in private…Emma’s smile widened. She could not have asked for a man better in tune with her, in bed and out of it. That morning…she shivered when she thought of it. The press of his bare chest against hers, the sting of his kisses; so capable of rough tenderness, as he growled low in her ear how wonderful she felt, how beautiful she was. Steed was positively talkative in bed, teasing her as much with his voice as with his body. Odd to think it was the same man who took up his position beside her. Devilishly attractive in his dark suit and double-breasted waistcoat, but still so calm, so aloof, so indolent, the perfect Edwardian gentleman. 

“Champagne, Mrs. Peel?” Steed asked, offering her the extra glass.

“Thank you,” she said. 

Emma tried to turn her attention to what Eagleton was saying when she felt the light touch of Steed’s fingertips against her free hand. Barely contacting the skin, he traced the lines of her palm, following them around the heel of her hand, then to the pulse on her wrist. When he pressed down on sensitive skin there, she shifted her hand away and gave him a warning glance. He responded with a look of total innocence that she knew only too well, even as he found her hand again. 

Exerting more pressure, he once more followed the veins on her wrist, across her palm, playing over each of her fingers like piano keys, pressing on the knuckles, circling the pad of his thumb on the center of her palm in a steady rhythm that reminded her – as it was supposed to – of other steady rhythms, other pressure points, other sensitive spots on her body that he played with equally expert precision. Obscured as their hands were by the angle of their bodies, Emma was certain that Eagleton could not see what Steed was doing. She wasn’t so certain about the rest of the room however. When his fingers weaved with hers and her hand curled down to press into the hard callouses of his palm, Emma decided that enough was enough. 

“Steed,” she said, turning to him with as sweet an expression as she could muster. “Professor Eagleton is also very interested in horses.” 

She was gratified to see his eyes light up and his body relax a bit. He must have been bored. 

“Is that so?” 

“Steeple-chasing mostly,” admitted the Professor. “Do you ride often, Mr. Steed?”

“On occasion.” 

“Steed’s a very experienced horseman,” said Emma. “Excellent on the straightaway, though I think he sometimes holds back going over the jumps.”

She caught the cock of Steed’s eyebrow out of the corner of her eye, but ignored it.

“I’ve been known to clear a hurdle or two,” he said.

“You’re a bit tall for steeple-chasing, though, Steed.”

He glared at her. “I’ve never allowed it to encumber me. Size is rather helpful on occasion, wouldn’t you say, Mrs. Peel?”

“Yes, if you like a quick run. Rather tires one out on the cross-country, though.”

Professor Eagleton cleared his throat. “And you, Mrs. Peel? Do you ride often?”

“Often enough. I enjoy it, all of that speed and power beneath you. Of course, you do need to urge a recalcitrant mount to give all he’s got. So often he simply wants to get back to the oats.”

Steed cleared his throat irritably.

Emma smiled. “Take the whip to him every now and then. But when he does let go, it’s quite thrilling. So many fine horses who simply need a rider willing to challenge them.” 

Eagleton laughed. “I understand what you mean. You’re a good judge of horse-flesh, Mrs. Peel.”

“I know a good mount when I see one.”

In so saying, she passed her hand discreetly over Steed’s backside and was pleased when his back stiffened.

“You must excuse us, Professor,” she said sweetly. “I see that they’ve laid out the buffet things.”

Eagleton nodded his head as they departed, Steed following along in her wake.

“A good mount?” he said, seizing her elbow. “You might have been less obvious.”

“I was talking about horses, Steed.”

She turned her head to the side and gave him an innocent smile.

As she reached the table and picked up a glass of champagne, Steed did the same, leaning forward over her shoulder, his lips coming close to her ear. 

“And what if I were to take you into the bathroom and ravish you until you begged for mercy?”

Emma felt her face flush what must have been a most unbecoming shade. When she turned to him, he was calmly picking up a crab puff and popping it into his mouth. Yet even as calm as he appeared, the eyes that met hers were dark and a touch angry and not just a little aroused. A smile curled one side of her mouth. 

“Let’s just hope you can make it over the first hurdle,” she whispered as she brushed past him.

**

Steed felt it said something for his self-control that they even made it as far the bathroom. As soon as Emma threw the lock on the door of the gold and silver room, they were on each other, mouths crashing together in deep, wild kisses. He braced her back so that Emma wrapped her legs around his waist, and Steed lifted and set her down on the bathroom counter.

“You know a good mount when you see one,” he growled, lifting her skirt.

Her breath was hot as she bit on his earlobe. “Don’t you dare ruin my dress.”

He stepped back to undo his belt and she shimmied out of her underwear. His hand slid up her skirt, rubbing against her clitoris until his fingers were wet with her. She spread her legs wider and he stepped between them, one hand guiding until his erection was pressed against her opening.

“Hard, Steed,” she rasped, her hands pressing down against his backside.

The words made his blood race, his vision flood, and the curbed animal in his nature took over. He entered with a single, hard thrust and heard her whimper, her thighs tightening as she crossed her legs behind his back. Any hesitation he might have had was swept away by the single word “yes,” deep and hot in his ear.

Steed had never thought of himself as the kind of man to take a woman on his host’s bathroom counter while an elegant evening party went on outside. But then he had done many things he’d never done before he met Emma Peel. He suspected, with the last part of his brain that still functioned rationally, that she had never considered herself that kind of woman either.

It didn’t matter what kind of people they might or might not have been, in any case. They were both swept away by the moment, the sheer intensity of wanting each other. All that was possessive in his nature distilled down to her: she was his, he would have her; this superb tightness, this heat, the biting pressure of her fingers, her hips rolling against his, her body accepting him. She could not cry out as she usually did for fear of alerting the party, but she made up for it by deep intakes of breath with every thrust, hissing exhalations into his ear, the occasional whimper or word, using words she never used, not in public, but here with him, accepting him, wanting him, she would say them, and it made him want her more if such a thing was possible.

The harder he pounded into her the more she seemed to want, urging him on with breathless words until he was certain he would be unable to go on, the pressure building within him. He almost afraid that he would break his golden rule and precede a lady, when he felt the contractions of her inner muscles gripping him and the tremors of her body as it pressed against his. For a short moment he rode the crest of her orgasm, thrilled that he could do this to her, listening to her pants close to his ear and her single, almost painful moan as she came. Then he was unable to stop himself from ejaculating into her, his vision for a moment going white.

For a long moment they simply remained there, spent in each other’s arms. Emma nuzzled her head against her lover’s, breathing in the warm scent of his hair cream and his cologne.

“I take it back,” she whispered. “I don’t think you need much help clearing the jumps.”

Steed chuckled. “A good rider does make a difference.”

He stood back, cupping her face in his hands, and kissed her gently. As uncomfortable as it was, Emma wanted to remain there in the afterglow with him. Their relationship seemed a combination of wild lovemaking and a relaxed, almost aloof friendship; curious again how satisfying that was.

“We’d better get back to the party,” said Steed. “They’ll miss us eventually.”

Emma sighed and let him help her down off the counter. A few minutes later and they returned to the party, calm, put together, as though they’d only been out for a cigarette. They stood in the doorway, looking across at the sea of dinner-jacketed men and nicely dressed women. It was Steed’s turn to sigh.

Emma wiped a smudge of lipstick off the corner of his mouth.

“Chin up,” she said, touching her fingers to his. “Later we’ll go for a nice, long ride."


End file.
